


Good Intentions

by EdosianOrchids901



Category: Star Trek: Deep Space Nine
Genre: Alternate Universe - Superheroes/Superpowers, Established Relationship, M/M, Prime Directive (Star Trek), Secret Identity, Spies & Secret Agents
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2019-02-16
Updated: 2019-03-27
Packaged: 2019-10-29 13:52:21
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 3
Words: 4,603
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/17809172
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/EdosianOrchids901/pseuds/EdosianOrchids901
Summary: Frustrated with the Federation's refusal to break the Prime Directive, Garak and Bashir decide to take matters into their own hands. After all, one of them is an ex-spy/gardener, and the other is a doctor with genetic enhancements. What could possibly go wrong?





	1. Chapter 1

**Author's Note:**

> Based on a Tumblr prompt from alexisafanst. Thank you so much for the request!! More chapters coming soon

Some say the Prime Directive is a necessity in a galaxy filled with developing civilizations. What, they ask, would have become of the Federation worlds if the Q or the wormhole aliens had interfered with those worlds’ growth? Would the Vulcans have developed their impeccable logic if someone stepped in to put an end to the wars that threatened to tear their planet apart? Would humans still be so bizarrely original in their thinking that they were able to defeat the Borg?

High-level diplomats and philosophers debate the issue in their expansive top-floor offices, their lecture halls, their space stations. Couched by comfort and safety, they shrug and shake their heads as less-developed civilizations stare into the face of annihilation. These diplomats and philosophers refuse to intervene. Why should they? It’s easy for them to stand back and claim their hands are tied while whole races are massacred, while people starve, while war and power struggles crush the vulnerable into dust.

No matter the cost, no matter the death toll, no matter the extinction of an entire race. The Federation will stand by and let them all perish.

But not everyone lives by their rules.

 

*******  


_“There’s another guard three rooms down, looks like he’s monitoring the security systems. Patch me in so I can override the cameras,”_ Julian said across the suit channel.

Garak huffed to himself and pried off the wall panel. “Remind me why it is that _I’m_ the one sneaking around the base? It seems to me that genetically enhanced strength and endurance would be quite beneficial. You’ve had me climbing entirely too many ladders, my dear.”

_“You’re sneaking around the base because you’re the only one who’s actually had experience sneaking around bases. Now hush and get me access to those systems.”_

It was a fair point, and one that Garak quite agreed with. While Julian’s enhancements gave him a theoretical advantage, he lacked the real-life experience. Playing spy in the holosuites didn’t count, and the good doctor would likely get himself killed if he attempted a mission.

Garak did not lack experience. His hands rewired the security system as readily as they stitched garments. “Done.”

He examined his phaser again. Power pack fully charged and in place. Weapon set to stun, just as Julian wanted.

Rather than adrenaline, calm certainty flowed through his veins. This was nothing new, nothing difficult. The job hadn’t changed—only his reasons. _And, perhaps, the level of force I’m willing to use._

With the security systems in Julian’s capable hands, Garak prowled down the corridor. The people of Percasia preferred low, warm lighting. While that was pleasant for Garak’s Cardassian eyes, the gloom also necessitated caution. A species with good low-light vision could easily spot him in the shadows.

Once in the control room, he allowed himself a moment of satisfaction. All those years in exile hadn’t dulled his talents. He felt more alive each time he and Julian had a successful mission.

_“It’s the panel just to your right,”_ Julian said.

“I know which panel it is, my dear Doctor.” As he input the proper sequence, Garak chuckled. “Or is it ‘my dear Agent Bashir’?”

Julian’s snort echoed in Garak’s helmet. _“Just put in the code so I can pull you out of there.”_

The new code entry finished with a complete lack of fanfare. Garak found the silence rather disappointing. “Did it work? I was expecting fireworks, celebrations…”

The dreary, mechanical control room dissolved around him, and he found himself instead staring at the dreary, mechanical shuttle interior.

“I take it that’s a ‘yes’.” He removed his helmet and sank into the uncomfortable grey chair. Grey. Why was everything always grey? Granted, this shuttle was a Romulan design, and those dull people were obsessed with grey. No sense of style whatsoever.

With a grin, Julian turned to him. “We did it, Elim. Their reactors are stabilized, so no more boom.”

“Yes, we do prefer our planets without ‘boom’.” Garak rolled his eyes. “And that’s another civilization saved, no thanks to your Federation.”

“I didn’t see Cardassia stepping in to help, either,” Julian snapped.

It was an old argument, and one that Garak chose to sidestep for now. “So! Champagne is in order once we return home.” He glared at the replicator. “I’d offer to get a bottle now, but I fear I haven’t been able to convince this replicator to accept new patterns. I must say, I am becoming quite weary of Romulan food and drink.”

“Look at it like an adventure.” Julian leaned over and gave him a quick kiss. “Well done in the base, love. I think we’re getting good at this.”

Garak tipped his chin up and gave a dismissive sniff. “Why, _I’ve_ been good at this for quite a long time. You’re the novice.”

“How’d the suit do?” Julian plucked the helmet out of his grasp and looked it over. “I still have no idea how you got these things.”

Garak had obtained the suits via a complicated series of trades. Several of the items he’d traded were quite illegal, and he’d stolen three of them from the infirmary. “The suit performed admirably, just as it did the first four times.”

“Great. I can’t wait to try mine.” Grinning again, the doctor set a course back to the station. “I don’t suppose your mysterious sources could get their hands on personal cloaking devices or something fancy, could they?”

“I’m afraid that finding a decommissioned shuttle with a cloaking device was difficult enough, my dear. Personal cloaking devices are essentially the opposite of commonplace.”

Julian shrugged. “Well, being hidden from sensors and such is handy enough. I want to come along on the next mission.”

Garak’s stomach tied itself in knots at the abrupt change in topic. Julian might be quick and clever—not to mention genetically enhanced—but he still lacked experience. And, even worse, Garak still wasn’t sure that the doctor would be willing to take lives if a plan went awry.

“We’ll see,” he said. “Do we have a new mission already?”

Julian shrugged. “There’s a few promising leads, but nothing solid enough to act on. Some rumors about Ferengi interference on an industrial-era world, a possibly catastrophic climate shift, dictators.”

“So, the universe is just as it should be,” Garak quipped. The dictators presented the easiest solution—assassination—but again, he feared Julian wouldn’t approve. Some days, Garak wondered if this foolish undertaking was better suited to a single individual. No debates over morality, no squabbles over “the right thing to do”. Just seeing what needed to be done and doing it. After all, wasn’t that what they were trying to do? What needed to be done?

“Well, the universe will be more as it should be provided we can solve some of these problems. I’m done sitting around watching people die when I have the means to help them.” Julian bit his lip and studied a padd. “But yeah, nothing for now. We’ll go home and do some more research.”


	2. Chapter 2

When Julian arrived at Quark’s, the din carried an undercurrent of excitement. Quark leaned across the bar, chattering with Morn and several other customers.

“—since the Federation wouldn’t step in. Everyone knew that Percasia was doomed. And then… poof!” Quark swung his hands wide. “Fixed!”

_News travels fast._ Julian dropped into his usual seat. The cheerful conversation spiked adrenaline through his system. There was no need to worry, not really. It was unlikely anyone would guess he and Elim had saved the planet. Then again, he’d never have guessed that his parents would be the ones who’d let slip about his genetic enhancements. Especially after how much they’d lectured on the need for secrecy.

His experience with living a double life gave him an advantage now. This wasn’t all that different. After all, he was still only concealing skills, abilities. And he was doing it to help people.

At least, that’s what he told himself when he couldn’t sleep at night.

_I’m being ridiculous. We’re helping. Someone needs to._

“So, what do you think, Doctor?” Quark asked.

Julian jerked his head up. “About what?”

“Why would these heroes do all this work for free? Do you have any idea how much they could charge?” Quark’s eyes sparkled with the promise of riches. “Especially dealing with these backwater planets. Let me tell you, they’d pay anything to have someone fix their problems.”

_Dangerous territory. Tread carefully, Julian._ “Well, I suppose the Federation would step in. Stop them.” Julian smiled and drummed his fingers on the bar. He just had to play cool, that was all. Like in his spy programs. “Can I get an ale?”

Kira dropped into the seat beside him. “The Federation hasn’t bothered before,” she said with characteristic bluntness. “They let the Cardassians ravage Bajor for decades. Why would they care if someone fixes a planet’s power systems?”

“No, I think the doctor’s right.” Quark handed over the drink. “The Federation wouldn’t do it out of the goodness of their hearts. They’re not idiots. They’d take the payments for themselves.”

“The Federation doesn’t use money,” Julian said.

Quark gave a skeptical look. “Then how are you paying me for that drink?”

“With a Federation stipend.” Julian shrugged and swirled his ale. “Point taken.”

The conversation moved on. Why that planet instead of one of the other worlds in need? How had the heroes stabilized the power systems without anyone noticing? And, the most vital question of all—who _were_ the heroes?

Julian avoided the discussion. Instead, he sipped his ale and watched Quark gossip. Theories about the so-called heroes’ identities flew back and forth, ranging from too-close-for-comfort (disillusioned Starfleet officers) to outright absurd (time travelers come back to prevent extinctions).

He couldn’t help but laugh at the last suggestion, which caught Kira’s attention. “So, Doctor. How did your relief mission go?” she asked.

“Oh, it went quite well!” At least he could safely discuss his relief missions. Garak often called them a cover story, but it was more than that—cover or no, the missions still brought healing and aid.  “Nasty plague on the Skrreeans’ colony. Got it taken care of, and everyone’s more or less healthy. They’ve settled in well.”

Kira smiled. “Good to hear. Is Garak making himself useful? Doesn’t seem like a tailor would be much help with plagues.”

“Oh, you know Garak. He always makes himself useful.”

 

*******

 

The smell of fish, rice, and something else—spices of some sort—wafted from their quarters into the corridor.

“Ah, my dear!” Elim flashed a broad smile. “You’ve outpaced dinner, I’m afraid. It’ll be a few more minutes.”

Julian kissed the ridge along Elim’s jaw. “I could have helped with dinner.”

“Nonsense. You were off to see your friends.” Elim tilted his head, eyes going sharp. “And how were your friends?”

Living with Elim was sometimes like being stalked by a predator. That keen gaze missed nothing. A slight hint of discomfort in Julian’s voice, a tightness in his shoulders…Elim read those signs quickly and easily. So quickly and easily that it was annoying.

“Everyone’s fine. I didn’t get to see Miles or Jadzia, though. They were still on duty,” Julian said. No doubt they’d find him later—Miles to ask about their next holosuite outing or dart game, and Jadzia to speculate about the “heroes.”

“A shame.” Elim blinked innocently. He paced around the table, setting things in perfect alignment. A fork slid away, and he tapped it back into place. Lips pressed into a disapproving line, he adjusted a spoon.

_He’s nervous too_. “There’s, um…gossip.”

“On this station? You don’t say.”

Julian poured two glasses of kanar, downed his own, then poured another. He wouldn’t let Elim avoid a discussion, not this time. “It’s not ordinary gossip. They’re talking about us.”

“No, they’re talking about the heroes who saved Percasia. Really, Doctor. I didn’t expect such paranoia from you.”

“Paranoia? You, of all people, are gonna lecture me about paranoia?” Julian snorted and shook his head. “I didn’t expect such complacency from you.”

“Complacency is hardly the proper term for it. It’s a simple understanding of how things work.”

Arms crossed, Julian leaned against the wall. Such a typical conversation. “Let me guess. You’re about to tell me how things work.”

Elim widened his eyes and gave a little bow. “If you insist, my dear. I’m afraid gossip is a constant in the life of a spy. Or a hero, if you believe the nonsense our neighbors are spouting. In the grand scheme of things, it hardly matters if people talk about what we’re doing. It may even be a good thing.”

“A good thing? You can’t be serious.”

“If they’re busy coming up with absurd theories, the truth, such as it is, will slip right past them.”

“I dunno about that. They’re coming a little too close to the truth for my comfort.”

Elim went eerily still. “What do you mean?”

Julian related the gossip and theories he’d heard. For once, Elim didn’t interrupt. Instead, he listened with a growing frown.

“Disillusioned Starfleet officers,” he said, tapping his fingers together. His orbital ridges cast deep shadows over his eyes as he looked away.

The unusual silence sent adrenaline tingling through Julian’s body. An urge to flee struck him, and he forced himself to take a deep breath. There was no sense panicking, not yet.

“Well.” Elim met his gaze again, and the smile returned. “They’re not entirely correct. It’s only one disillusioned Starfleet officer, after all. And I presume they didn’t mention Cardassians as suspects?”

“I don’t think anyone’s foolish enough to believe the Cardassians would be helping out of the goodness of their hearts.” Julian smiled back. _So that’s how we’re playing this._

“Contrary to popular belief, we are capable of being altruistic. Humans aren’t the only species with empathy, after all.”

“Good luck finding anyone near Bajor who agrees with that.” Julian took a few steps into Elim’s personal space. “The answer to your question is no. No one thinks the Cardassians are involved.”

Elim leaned in, breath tickling Julian’s ear. “The best spy is one with no obvious involvement. And that, my dear Julian, makes me far more qualified for this than you are.”

Just as Julian bent to kiss those tempting neck ridges, the computer announced that a timer was finished. Elim hissed and then drew back with a bright smile. “Dinner’s ready. I’ve experimented with the spices I purchased, and I think you’ll like my concoctions.”

“Great, can’t wait to try it,” Julian said in a flat tone. Flirting by means of argument came naturally to him these days, and he hated interruptions. And dammit, Elim had distracted him. “Do you think we’re in danger? You’re the one with all the experience, as you like to remind me.”

Elim placed dishes at the table, and then laid his hand on Julian’s shoulder. “I do share your concern, my dear. You know that I vastly prefer to remain in the shadows. After all, if word _did_ come out that we were running around saving the galaxy…well, suffice it to say I don’t need anyone else looking to assassinate me. Particularly not anyone with the resources of the Federation.”

“The Federation?” Julian couldn’t help but chuckle. “Garak, no one in the Federation would want to assassinate us.”

Elim’s eyes narrowed, and he tilted his head. “Are you still truly that naïve, my dear?”

_I’m not taking that bait_. “You’d think the Federation would be glad someone’s sorting out the issues. It’s not like they’re doing anything aside from debating about how not to help. And I’m pretty sure most Starfleet officers would want to give us medals.”

“Medal ceremonies are an ideal place for an assassination.”

Julian rolled his eyes. “You would know.”


	3. Chapter 3

_Time travelers. An android army. Sentient bacteria._ Garak shook his head. _What_ will _they think of next?_

Amusing theories aside, that one pesky suggestion gnawed at the back of his mind. Disgruntled Starfleet officers. An oddly apt description of Julian, to be sure. The good doctor had never been one to stand by while others suffered.

With a huff, Garak bent over his project again. His tailoring tool glided effortlessly over midnight blue silk. Perhaps now that they’d returned home, he could finish some work.

His shop doors whooshed open, and he suppressed a sigh. So much for finishing work. “Welcome,” he said, putting on his best customer service smile. “What can—”

Julian skidded to a halt at his side. “I’ve got it.”

“You’ve got what, my dear?”

“Our next mission. Here, look.” He shoved a padd in Garak’s face. “Famine. It’s perfect.”

Garak pointedly rolled his chair to the side and resumed sewing. “I daresay the inhabitants of that world might object to your description of famine as ‘perfect’. Indeed, I think you’d find most—”

“Quit being pedantic and check this out.”

Rude. Pressing his lips into a thin line, Garak snatched the padd. “A famine on Altos III, failing crops, starving people. And what precisely are we supposed to do about this?”

“What are we supposed to do about it?” Julian pulled his head back. His expression morphed into something between a frown and a smile. “Did you actually read the report? Look at their technology level.”

Garak spared a rueful glance for his abandoned project. Chalan wouldn’t be getting her new dress in time for the Gratitude Festival after all, it seemed. Not if they were about to go running off on another trip halfway across the sector. Perhaps he could sew in the shuttle. Cramped surroundings, rather less than ideal. _I’m sorry, Chalan. I’m afraid I couldn’t finish the dress you ordered three months ago. You see, my overzealous partner decided that we need to save the galaxy…_

Julian tapped the padd several times. The poor device made a sad fizzling sound in response. “Pre-warp, but just barely.”

Oh, so that’s where this was going. “Ah, I see. So, we’ll simply set down on a planet that’s pre-warp, but just barely, hand over replicators and science equipment, and then be on our merry way?”

Julian’s half-smile/half-frown turned into a full frown. “That’s the idea, yeah.”

_Whoever designed his spy programs—Felix, most likely—should be shot._ “My dear Doctor, I find myself questioning your wisdom. This is what comes of a lifetime spent playing at being a spy, of indulging in those ridiculous fantasies for hours on end without a scrap of real-world experience.”

“Do you have a better plan?” Julian paced a few steps away, leaned against the wall, and crossed his arms. “Besides, I thought you wanted to help people. This is how we help these people.”

“I do wish to help people, but you forget. This entire scheme was your idea, not mine.”

“Don’t dodge responsibility! I might have come up with the idea, but you joined me. As I recall, you barely even argued.”

The truth in that statement grated. Tain’s voice echoed in Garak’s head. _Elim. Always sentimental. Do you really think that what you do matters? That anything you do helps?_

“Quite right.” Garak gave a quick nod and stood. “When do we depart?”

Julian gaped at him. “When…Garak, you just…where did that come from?”

_From an old grudge._ “It occurs to me that Tain wouldn’t have approved. That alone is motivation enough.”

 

*******

 

If their illegal shuttle was cramped, their illegal suits were even more so. Groaning, Garak tugged at the form-fitting material. “You’d think suits for covert operations would be designed with comfort in mind.”

Julian froze with only one arm in a sleeve. “Are you serious?”

Once too serious, according to some. “Why would I not be serious?”

“Garak, you’re a _tailor._ I’m sure you’re more than capable of making the necessary alterations.”

Should he be flattered or annoyed? Presumed competence was always nice. Then again, he had, of course, already considered that idea and dismissed it. “I haven’t forgotten that I’m a tailor. There is, however, a great difference between sewing a dress and altering stealth-tech. I’m afraid my technical know-how doesn’t extend quite that far. Were I to make a mistake, I could compromise the signal masking.”

Julian’s expression fell. “Oh. Hadn’t thought of that.”

“That much is obvious.”

As much as the clingy fabric irritated Garak, the tightness did have some advantages. Particularly in the way it accented Julian’s shoulders.

“What’re you staring at?” Julian jerked the head cover into place and dropped his face shield.

“You cut quite a striking figure in that suit despite the lack of tailoring.”

That earned a snort. “You look nice too, dearest.”

Garak lowered his own face shield. His breaths echoed in his ears, too close, too loud. Familiar tightness banded around his chest, and he forced himself to relax. A necessary evil, these suits. Better than stumbling into a sensor net.

“All right, I think we’ve got everything.” Julian rapped his knuckles atop the stack of replicators. The damn things constricted their already limited space and rendered the sleeping quarters inaccessible—an unfortunate problem for a three-day flight. “I’ve identified a clearing to land the shuttle. It’s well off the main roads, but close enough that someone ought to run across the replicators.”

“Hopefully not ‘run across’ with a vehicle of some sort.” Far too many ways this plan could go wrong. _Perhaps I shouldn’t make decisions solely in opposition to what my father would have done._ “Are you entirely sure about this?”

“It’s a little late to back out now. We’re already in orbit, suited up…”

We. That was part of the problem. Julian’s inexperience still sent a chill through Garak. During his days in the Order, he’d never have taken a trainee along on a mission. And Julian wasn’t even a trainee. However, as the good doctor rightly pointed out, one person would struggle to deliver the replicators alone. 

_When we get home, I must remember to enhance his education._ “Very well. I’d like it noted that I still find this entire concept reckless and unwise.”

Julian shook his head and dropped into the pilot’s seat. “I’ll record it in the log I’m keeping of our illegal activities. Are you going to strap in or not?”

Garak gave the replicators another misgiving look before strapping in. What if Altos III’s sensors were more advanced than reports showed? No, that was ridiculous—the shuttle’s cloaking device obscured them from even Federation scanners. This pre-warp planet was hardly a threat.

Still, he couldn’t take his gaze off the sensors. Any moment now, a panel would light up. Red lights flashing, alarms blaring… Or perhaps the odd atmosphere—the same one that rendered their transporter useless—would eat through the shuttle’s hull.

Instead, the shuttle set down with a gentle little thump. Garak looked out the viewport. Rugged mountains peeked over a gnarled web of trees. Remarkable that they’d found a clearing at all in this tangle.

It wasn’t much of a clearing. The shuttle’s ramp plowed through foliage, and Garak winced at the sharp crack of branches.

“That’s a tighter fit than I thought,” Julian said in a bright, unconcerned tone.

Not an encouraging start. Garak had learned decades ago that if something went awry early in a mission, more complications would follow. Oh, nearly anything could be salvaged with quick thinking. But quick thinking only profited when paired with experience.

“In better news, no nearby life signs according to the scanners.” He squeezed past the stack of replicators and peered outside.

Trees towered on either side of the shuttle, blocking out the sun. More good news. Less encouraging, however, were the thin paths that spiderwebbed into the forest.

“Julian,” he said slowly, “where precisely _is_ this clearing?”

Julian shoved replicators to the top of the ramp. “I’ve put us down in a park.”

“A…A park?” A park consisting solely of trees, as far as he could tell.

“Yes, and it’s a fairly popular one. So we’d better hurry.”

Wonderful. Garak grabbed the nearest replicator and dragged it down the ramp. “What were you thinking? Bad enough that we’re landing on the planet at all, but in a popular park?”

“We couldn’t very well drop the replicators in the middle of nowhere. There’s a famine, people need these right away.”

Garak cast his gaze around the park again. Still no one approaching. Not yet, anyway. “And you think that in the midst of a famine, they’ll be going to the park?”

“Yes, because those trees grow fruit. Come on, Garak, we don’t have time to debate this.”

_He’s going to get both of us killed with plans like this._ Garak pulled another replicator into the grass. _It seems I must go over everything myself. I should have done so in the first place, but no, I decided to trust him, trust that he wouldn’t come up with some foolish scheme—_

The shuttle’s alert system gave an low, ominous beep. Julian shoved the final replicator into place and laid a padd atop it. “Okay, that’s the instructions. We’ve gotta go, there’s people coming.”

They scrambled back inside, strapped themselves in, and removed their face shields. “Now would be a good time to take off, Doctor. We may be cloaked, but they can still run into us. The miraculous appearance of lifesaving technology will cause havoc enough. They hardly need to bump their heads on an invisible ship.”

“I’m well aware of that, Garak.”

“Then take off!”

“I am taking off!”

_Breathe, Elim._ Garak gripped the seat and peered out the viewport. Below them, a small group of the planet’s inhabitant trickled into the clearing and milled around the replicators. He double-checked the cloaking device. Working. It was working.

That had come far, far too close. Struggling to hide reminded him of those training exercises in the Mekar wilderness, where he’d learned to diffuse his energy, to blend into his surroundings. Even after all these years, he still missed his regnar on occasion. For a moment, he could feel the hot sun and wind, taste the sand…

“Garak.”

He startled. “Hmm?”

“Stop trying to fuse with your chair, okay? It’s a little unnerving.”

“Ah. I didn’t realize I was doing that.” Garak forced a deep breath and brought his energy field back up. “You gave me something of a fright with all that, my dear.”

Julian scratched his neck and made a face. “I know. Sorry about that, I thought we had more time.”

“In the future, I’d vastly appreciate it if you ran your plans by me in a bit more detail. Real intelligence operatives don’t have the luxury of mistakes. This isn’t the holosuite, and we can’t simply tell the computer to revive us if something goes horribly wrong.”

“This isn’t an intelligence operation.”

“No, it’s worse.” Garak swung his arm to gesture to the planet and instead smacked into the console. “We’re visiting pre-warp planets. If we’re captured, I fear it’s vivisection for us. No rescue will be coming.”

“Good god, Elim!” Julian drew his head back, eyes wide. “That’s a grim outlook.”

“It’s a grim subject. Anyway, I thought you had reservations about these missions as well.”

“Reservations about gossip, not…not about getting vivisected.” Eyes still wide, Julian shook his head and tapped his fingers on the console. “You’re right, though. We’ll talk about details more before the next mission.”

The next mission. There would always be a next mission. Not a bad thing, to have a purpose in life. Cardassians were hardwired to serve, to contribute. Despite the adrenaline—or perhaps because of it—Garak’s spirits lifted.

 


End file.
